


i've been quiet for too long

by Flowerparrish



Series: Clint Barton Bingo [4]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Clint Barton POV, M/M, Prompt Fill, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, The Asset POV, Unbeta'd, bucky barnes pov, pretty much stream of consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-02 10:39:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19197133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowerparrish/pseuds/Flowerparrish
Summary: There are words on The Asset’s skin. He is told they have always been there, and they do not change.Ghost, they say, deadly. Nightmare come to life.They aren’t wrong.





	i've been quiet for too long

**Author's Note:**

> Clint Barton Bingo Square: Soulmates

There are words on The Asset’s skin. He is told they have always been there, and they do not change.

 

_Ghost,_ they say, _deadly. Nightmare come to life._

 

They aren’t wrong.

 

The Asset does not know where they came from; The Asset does not question it. The words are there, on his skin, and he does not think about them except when he sees them, and when he sees them, he feels—

 

He feels. _Something._

 

So he tries not to look at them.

 

And then he gets sent on a mission that shatters his whole world, and opens up his mind to expose the awful truth—that he was once a person, before he was a weapon—and, even more unforgivable than all of that, the words _change._

 

Not immediately; at least, The Asset doesn’t _think_ they change immediately (and that’s a thing, now, The Asset _thinking)._

 

_Ghost_ vanishes off of the skin over his heart. _Deadly_ and _nightmare_ remain, but are joined by _damaged_ and _lost_ and _afraid._

 

These words are also accurate; Bucky hates them more than he’s ever hated anything (more than he can ever _remember_ hating anything, rather, and that’s an entirely different thing, isn’t it?).

 

He continues to ignore them, very carefully does not think about what they might mean for him as a person rather than The Asset, what it means for other people when there are words on their skin.

 

Because weapons don’t have soulmates, and Bucky’s not sure he can ever be a person again.

 

\--

 

Growing up, Clint never had words. That wasn’t unusual; you don’t get words until you meet your soulmate and they form an opinion of you.

 

He doesn’t get words until he’s working for SHIELD, finally doing the right thing after years of doing, well, not the _wrong_ thing, but… unsanctioned vigilante justice.

 

The words that appear on his skin seem more suited to that lifestyle: _enemy,_ one says, and another, _threat._

 

It isn’t until he rescues Natasha that the next word appears, scrawled across his throat: _eliminate._ She touches it with her fingers, gentle, and it’s the first time they touch skin to skin. “I’m sorry,” she tells him.

 

He raises his chin. “I make my own decisions.”

 

Clint tries very hard not to think about why his _soulmate_ is someone who would want to kill him for saving Natasha’s life. Nothing good can come of those thoughts, of wondering what that says about _him._

 

Eventually, Loki happens, and then Clint thinks, _oh. That’s_ what that says about him.

 

_Eliminate_ doesn’t vanish. _Threat_ and _enemy_ get lighter, though, like a faded sharpie scrawl that could be washed away with a few good minutes of scrubbing—less certain, then.

 

Great.

 

So Clint’s given up on his soulmate and gotten used to the looks he gets when people see the word at his throat.

 

And then… it changes.

 

He gets _dangerous_ and it feels the way the words always feel—like it cuts to the core of him. But he also gets _impossible,_ which is… almost flattering? Most importantly, _enemy_ fades gradually into nothing and _eliminate_ vanishes overnight. _Threat_ remains, washed out and uncertain, and Clint doesn’t allow himself to hope it will vanish, too.

 

He checks his skin every morning before he showers in his safe house, because Nat and Steve have burned SHIELD to the ground—good riddance to a HYDRA front—but it’s not out of _hope._

 

It _isn’t._

 

And then.

 

Then.

 

Then Natasha tells him about Steve and the Winter Soldier, about Bucky Barnes alive after all this time.

 

About brainwashing and torture, and Clint’s torn between thoughts of, _like me,_ and, _oh no, that’s not possible._

 

The second thought is mostly prompted by Natasha’s gaze studying the word at his throat, changed after all this time. He dismisses it after no more than a moment, because it’s stupidly impossible.

 

\--

 

The Asset’s—Bucky’s—words change again a few weeks later. He keeps _lost,_ but he gains _hero_ which seems unlikely and _stupid fucking hot_ which seems unlikelier. He’s currently wearing a threadbare shirt and worn jeans, metal hand stuffed in his pockets to hide it from notice, and he can feel that his long hair hangs limp and greasy around his face.

 

The fact that the latter phrase isn’t true makes _hero_ easier to dismiss. Whoever is thinking these things, they don’t know him, not really.

 

\--

 

Clint figures out around the time that he gets _better shot than me_ written along his bicep that he’s got a problem.

 

A few of them, more like, but the most pressing one is that _the Winter Soldier is his soulmate._

 

It’s not any less of a mindfuck to think about Bucky Barnes as his soulmate, either; it’s more of a mindfuck, really, because, what? His soulmate is some guy from the 1940s who’s a legendary war hero and Captain America’s best friend? No, absolutely not.

 

So Clint tries to think of a city he knows how to lie low in, but also a city he knows how to make a massive scene in and come out alive, and there’s only one place that fits both criteria.

 

So he thinks to himself, very hard, until he makes himself believe it: _you will be in Budapest when I arrive._ He knows it’s not how soulbonds work; you can’t just convince yourself of something and communicate that way.

 

But it’s all he’s got.

 

So he packs up his safe house, leaves a message for Natasha that he’s going to lie low out of the country for a while, and he goes before she can try to stop him.

 

\--

 

When _Budapest,_ just the word, appears across Bucky’s wrist, he doesn’t understand.

 

He’s curious, though. He hasn’t been curious in a long time. Confused, sure, but curious?

 

So he goes.

 

It’s easy to fall back on his training, to find someone who doesn’t—does?—want to be found.

 

He finds the archer awake and waiting. There’s words on his skin, exposed, and Bucky wants to read them but the light in the room is too dim.

 

“You came.”

 

Bucky startles at the words, at the _voice._ It’s a voice he’s never heard before, but somehow, it feels… familiar.

 

Bucky opens his mouth to say words, and no words come out. Barton waits until he closes his mouth and then just shrugs. “It’s fine,” he says. “Just… stay?”

 

Bucky thinks about the risks: the risk Bucky poses to anyone, even someone as well-trained as Hawkeye; the risk that Clint will call Steve; the risk that this is real and not a dream and they’ll have to figure out a way to handle it eventually.

 

There’s no reason to stay and every reason to leave.

 

Bucky nods.

 

Clint gestures at what could generously be called a bed but is really just a dirty mattress with stains and no sheets on the floor. “I’ll keep watch,” he says, as if he knows Bucky hasn’t slept for more than an hour or two at a time, stolen naps before the screaming alarms in his brain wake him and get him moving.

 

Bucky collapses on the mattress, rolling to face the wall, head pillowed on the cool, unforgiving metal of his arm.

 

He sleeps.

 

\--

 

Clint’s…

 

Clint doesn’t know what he is. In shock, maybe, but that feels to easy.

 

He’s shaken, definitely; one doesn’t come face to face with the Winter Soldier and emerge _un_ shaken, even if he seems to be more of a person than a ghost these days.

 

Clint studies the man while he keeps watch, trying to figure him out with too few clues.

 

He’s not the Winter Soldier—not entirely, anyway. But the haunted way he looked at Clint, the way words got caught in his throat before they could make their way out into the world—that’s familiar to Clint. He’s not Bucky Barnes, ‘40’s charmer, either. He’s something in between, maybe, or something else entirely.

 

What Clint settles on, finally, as the day falls into dusk and the room gets almost too dark to bear, is the only truth he has: this man, whoever he is, is Clint’s _soulmate._

 

That’ll have to be enough.

 


End file.
